A Veteran on Why War Survivors Need to Keep Taking Risks

And why living life to its fullest is the truest sign of respect.

I didn't know Drak well. He worked the day shift and I worked the night. We made small talk in the brief hour that our shifts overlapped. The day he died, I looked at the personnel record that was printed as part of standard Killed-in-Action processing. He was about the same age as me. He joined the Army around the same time. I remember thinking that, if the recruiter had pitched a different job to me, I could have been the FO sitting in the Humvee that ran over that roadside bomb.

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David Drakulich was 22 years old when he was killed by an improvised explosive device near Musa Qala, Afghanistan, in January of 2008. Drak was a forward observer in my battalion, meaning that he rolled with an infantry platoon and directed artillery fire when they needed it. I held a combat service support occupation, meaning I spent a lot of time in air conditioning. I saw just enough shit to say I saw some, but no more. Most of the time I worked in a tactical operations center (TOC) with more computers than rifles.

I met Drak when he worked in the TOC before he was assigned to a line platoon. He was kind of a goofy kid, but endearing. His thick, dark brows and hair—apparent even with his Army regulation cut—prompted many jokes. He took them in stride. I later learned that he was an accomplished artist.

There's a role for everyone in the Army. Infantrymen, personnel clerks, accountants, truck drivers, cooks, and a host of other professionals all wear the same uniform. A successful force needs all of these positions to be filled. But I ended up as a support soldier because others volunteered to be infantrymen, tankers, and forward observers. I did everything my country asked of me, but for the most part, that didn't include getting shot at. I don't feel guilty about that (much), but it is not lost on me that I was afforded that luxury because my country requested a much riskier contribution from people like Drak.

"I have been given years that my brothers were not, and because of that, my life no longer belongs exclusively to me."

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Some of those men didn't live long enough to reach college, and so after the Army I went to the best public school I could get into, then onto grad school. Some never got to start a family, and so I didn't hesitate to elope with a woman I'd been dating for five months when I knew it was right. Those guys may have had passions that weren't served by being a soldier, so I've moved back and forth across the country, quitting and accepting jobs that fulfilled me, rather than getting stuck in a job I hate to pay the bills. I've traveled the country and as much as I can of the world. I've ridden motorcycles and started impromptu road trips in the middle of the night, all when my family cautioned against it. I've lived, played, and worked harder than most American men my age. And it's because of people like Drak.

I owe Drak and the others a debt. I've now lived eight years longer than Drak did, and he wasn't even the youngest guy we lost. I am two years older than the oldest man who didn't return from our unit. I have been given years that my brothers were not, and because of that, my life no longer belongs exclusively to me. I have a moral imperative to live fully on behalf of those who made a much greater sacrifice so that I might serve in relative safety. To err on the side of caution would be to disrespect their service. To live passively would be pointless.

And far from a burden, choosing to live in honor of my comrades has brought me immense joy and even professional success. I could have instead taken a lesson of caution for the value of life. But to quote Mike Cooley of the band Drive-By Truckers, "Living in fear is just another way of dying before your time." I live much happier than I would if I responded to the experience of combat and loss with despair and caution.

I am the furthest thing from a person of faith that you will find. But when I think of the guys I served with whose lives were cut short of their fullest potential, I often remember a red letter quote from the Gospel of John that is often read at memorial services for KIAs: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." When I have a choice between risk and caution, I chose to repay their love.

Richard Allen Smith is a former Army sergeant. He served five years on active duty, including a deployment to Afghanistan with the 82nd Airborne Division from February of 2007 to April of 2008. He holds a Master of Arts in Writing from Johns Hopkins University and lives in the Washington, D.C. area with his family.

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